Broderick' s face was a thundercloud as he scooped Kacey, fragile and trembling, into his arms. He hurried her away, his back a rigid wall of disapproval. Kacey, ever the damsel, managed a weak, pained whimper. She was a delicate flower, he believed, easily bruised.

The next thing I knew, my bedroom door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the entire house. Broderick stood there, his eyes blazing, a storm brewing behind them. He strode towards me, his hand clamping around my arm, yanking me roughly to my feet.

"You wicked, evil woman!" His voice was a low snarl, each word dripping with disgust.

I stared at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Why don' t you just strangle me then, Broderick?" I challenged, my voice raw. "End it."

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn' t blink. "I never betrayed you," I whispered, the words a hollow echo of a truth he refused to hear.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my abdomen, and I gasped, my body trembling uncontrollably.

He merely sneered, a cruel twist of his lips. "Do you truly expect me to believe your pathetic lies, Celina? After all you' ve done?" He leaned closer, his voice laced with venom. "Why would Justin Neal, a man from a family as powerful as his, give you money, if not for some sordid transaction?"

The pain was overwhelming, stealing my breath, stealing my voice. What was the point? He wouldn't believe me anyway. He never had.

I forced a brittle smile. "Believe what you want, Broderick." I spat the words, the defiance a desperate shield against the crushing despair.

I pushed his hand away, trying to stand, to escape this suffocating torment. But before I could, he slammed me back onto the bed, his body pressing down on mine. I struggled, my hands flailing, but his weight was crushing.

His mouth moved to my ear, his breath hot against my skin, but his words were chilling. "You' re disgusting, Celina. Tainted." His voice was laced with pure contempt.

My heart, already a fractured thing, shattered. His hatred, his disgust, pierced through me, leaving me hollow, bleeding internally.

His hand went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. "Perhaps," he murmured, his eyes cold and calculating, "I should properly 'examine' what you' ve become."

A fresh wave of terror washed over me. My body thrashed, my hands pounding against his chest, but it was like hitting a brick wall. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to scream, to cry, but no sound escaped.

Then, the pain. A dizzying, nauseating agony in my stomach, forcing me to curl into a fetal position.

"Still faking it?" he sneered, his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"My stomach…" I whimpered, the words barely audible through clenched teeth. "It hurts… so much."

My mind screamed for the painkillers. I had to get to them. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, I shoved him. He stumbled back, crashing into the nightstand.

My purse, which I' d carelessly tossed onto the bed earlier, tumbled to the floor. The painkiller bottle, along with a stack of papers, rolled out.

His eyes, sharp and predatory, fixed on the scattered documents. He bent down, his hand reaching for them.

"No!" I cried out, my voice raspy with panic. I lunged forward, trying to snatch them away, to protect my secret.

But he was faster. His fingers closed around the papers, pulling them free. His gaze, once cold, now filled with a strange, dawning comprehension as he read the words.

Terminal diagnosis.

My body went limp, collapsing onto the floor. My secret, exposed, felt like a gaping wound.

He picked up the small pill bottle, examining the label, then looked back at me, his face a complex mix of emotions I couldn't decipher. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the papers and the pill bottle onto the bed. "Another one of your pathetic tricks, Celina?" His voice was a vicious lash. "Forging documents for sympathy? You truly are despicable."

He stooped, his hand reaching out. For a moment, I thought he might help me. But his touch was cold, his fingers gently wiping away the sweat from my forehead. It was a gesture of mocking tenderness.

"Even if you were to die, Celina," he whispered, his voice devoid of pity, "it wouldn' t pain me in the slightest." He scoffed, looking at me with disdain. "You' re just imitating her."

He shook his head, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You' re too young for a terminal illness, Celina. This is just another one of your elaborate lies, isn't it?"

He turned and walked out, leaving me alone on the cold floor. I dragged myself to the bed, my fingers fumbling for the abandoned pill bottle. I dry swallowed a handful, the bitterness now familiar.

I stared at the ceiling, a single, mirthless laugh escaping my lips. Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless.

My phone vibrated, a harsh interruption to the suffocating silence. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my hand shaking as I answered. It was my mother.

"Did you get the money from him?" Her voice was shrill, laced with panic.

"No," I said, my voice flat. "I won' t ask him for money."

"Then ask Justin!" she shrieked, her desperation palpable. "Are you just going to sit there and watch your father die?"

My grip tightened on the phone. My eyes, cold and empty, narrowed. "And what about you, Mother?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. "Do you care so much about Father' s life? Or just about keeping your affair with… Gerald a secret?"

A choked gasp on the other end. Then, a click. She had hung up.

The specialist urged me to stay in the hospital, but I refused. I wanted to be home, in my own bed. He prescribed stronger painkillers, and I promised to take them. A lie, of course. I just wanted to leave.

As I arrived home, Broderick' s car screeched out of the driveway, tires spitting gravel. He was driving fast, a blur of expensive metal and furious urgency. I rarely saw him this agitated. A strange unease settled in my stomach.

I started to call out, to ask what was wrong, but the car was already a distant speck. He didn' t even glance my way.

"The other lady, Miss Kacey, she had an emergency," the housekeeper explained, her voice hushed. "A severe heart condition, they said. She was rushed to the hospital."

My heart sank, a heavy, dull ache. I knew. I always knew.

I made my way to the hospital where my father was admitted. As I walked down the sterile corridor, I saw Broderick pacing outside a room, his jacket askew, his tie loosened. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips a thin, tight line. He looked utterly distraught.

My heart twisted with a familiar pain. He loved her so deeply. He must be suffering terribly.

I remembered a time when he had looked at me with that same intensity, that same desperate concern. We had been so happy once, before the misunderstandings, before the lies. I had truly believed our love was unbreakable. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, I was dying. And he was grieving for another woman.

A thought, cold and clear, solidified in my mind. If I was going to die anyway, if I was going to disappear from his life forever, I could at least do one last thing for him. I could make his path to happiness a little smoother. I could ease his pain, even if he would never know it was me.

I hoped my death would erase his hatred, leaving only a faint, forgettable memory. And in my next life, I wished for a path that wouldn't cross his again.

The doctors were telling Broderick that a suitable heart donor was almost impossible to find, and Kacey didn' t have much time.

That' s when I filled out the organ donation forms.

"I want to donate my heart," I told the coordinator, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "After… after I' m gone."

They tested me. A perfect match for Kacey.

I walked out of the hospital, the crisp evening air biting at my exposed skin. I pulled the bottle of painkillers from my purse and, with a final, resolute act, tossed them into a nearby trash can. There was no point now.

"Celina!"

My body stiffened, a cold dread creeping up my spine. A hand clamped down on my shoulder, firm and possessive. Justin Neal.

His fingers, surprisingly gentle, traced the small scar on his index finger-a phantom reminder of a time long ago, when I had bitten him in a desperate struggle to get away. He had been obsessed with me then, and that obsession had never truly faded. He had come to me, years ago, when Broderick's family was on the brink of ruin. He wanted me, had always wanted me, and saw Broderick as a rival.

"Leave him," Justin had demanded, his voice a low growl. "Be with me, and I will save his family from ruin."

I remembered Broderick, proud and defiant, brought to his knees by the cruel twists of fate. His family, once so powerful, was facing utter destruction. Justin's family, on the other hand, was untouchable, capable of crushing anyone who stood in their way. I had no choice but to accept Justin's offer. My sacrifice was the only way to save Broderick.

Justin's laugh was chilling, devoid of warmth. "Still thinking of him, are you?" He ran a finger down my cheek, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity. "Look what he did to me." He gestured to the ugly scar that ran down the side of his neck, a jagged line from ear to collarbone. "Tell me, Celina. How should I make him pay?"

I felt a familiar sense of dread. Justin Neal was a man who always got what he wanted, by any means necessary.

I let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "You deserve whatever you get, Justin." My voice was laced with a venom I rarely allowed myself to show.

He raised an eyebrow, a mocking glint in his eyes. "Still defending him? Does he still see you as his shield, or are you just a convenient distraction while he cozies up to Kacey?" He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "They' re quite close, you know. He' s spent every night at her bedside since her 'emergency.' "

My heart clenched, but I refused to let him see my pain. I said nothing, just pushed his hand away, turning to leave.

But then, the world spun. A sudden, dizzying wave of nausea washed over me, and my legs gave out. Everything went black.

Broderick leaned back on the plush sofa in his study, his eyes closed, a hand pressed to his forehead. Exhaustion was a heavy cloak draped over him.

The hospital calls had been relentless. No heart donor. Kacey was fading fast. He' d pulled every string, called every contact, but nothing. The frustration, the desperation, was a burning inferno in his gut. He tore at his tie, loosening it, trying to breathe past the suffocating anxiety.

His phone buzzed. It was Kacey' s doctor. "She' s awake, Mr. Sheppard. For now."

He shot up from the sofa, grabbing his jacket. He had to go to her.

As he stepped out of the house, a sleek black sedan blocked his path. He frowned, pushing open his car door. He walked towards the unfamiliar vehicle, a cold dread building in his chest. He knew that car. And he knew who was inside.

Justin Neal.

Broderick' s lips curled into a sneer. "What do you want, Neal?"

Justin gestured to the passenger seat. "Just dropping off your… wife. She collapsed on the street."

Broderick' s gaze flickered to the passenger seat. Celina was slumped there, seemingly unconscious. His eyes hardened, but he quickly averted his gaze. "Take her home, Neal. She' s not my concern."

Celina' s eyes fluttered open, a single tear tracing a path down her pale cheek. She saw him, heard him. And then, her eyes closed again.

"Don' t you regret this, Broderick?" Justin' s voice was soft, insinuating.

"What business is it of yours, Neal?" Broderick' s voice was a low growl. "She' s nothing to me." He turned, stalking back to his own car, slamming the door shut.

Justin watched him go, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He pulled away, the black sedan gliding smoothly down the driveway as Broderick' s car disappeared around the bend.

Celina slowly opened her eyes, unbuckling her seatbelt. She had to get out.

"You' re sick, Celina." Justin' s voice was gentle, but his hand on her arm was firm. "Let me take you away from here. Away from him."

She shook her head, pulling her arm free. She got out of the car, her legs stiff, and walked towards the house. She had to do this. For him.

Justin rolled down his window. "He' s gone to the hospital, Celina. To Kacey." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Want to go see for yourself?"

She didn' t turn around. "It has nothing to do with me," she said, her voice flat, her back ramrod straight as she walked into the house, leaving him behind.

Justin watched her go, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He felt a strange unease, a premonition of something terrible about to happen.

At the hospital, Kacey was weeping, her voice weak. "The doctors say my heart is failing, Broderick. It' s so much worse than before." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Remember three years ago? When I caught that terrible flu, trying to find you after… after you broke up with Celina? It turned into myocarditis. They said I would always be fragile."

Broderick closed his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. He remembered. After Celina had left him, he' d been reckless, driven by a self-destructive despair. Kacey had been there, trying to pull him back from the brink, and she' d fallen ill because of it. He owed her.

"You won' t die, Kacey," he said, his voice firm, filled with a promise he intended to keep. "I won' t let you."

She squeezed his hand, tears still flowing. "But finding a heart donor… it' s impossible, Broderick. I' m scared."

That night, I was lost in a fitful sleep. Then, a soft click. The sound of my bedroom door opening.

A heavy weight pressed down on the bed next to me. The scent of alcohol, not unpleasant, filled the air. He was drunk.

The moonlight, slivering through the curtains, illuminated his face. Broderick.